the lady gave him her cue; and this was not to be till the evening,when all the company but Lord Fellamar and himself were gone, andwhile they were engaged in a rubber at whist.

To this time then, which was between seven and eight in the evening,we will convey our reader; when Lady Bellaston, Lord Fellamar, MissWestern, and Tom, being engaged at whist, and in the last game oftheir rubbers, Tom received his cue from Lady Bellaston, which was, "Iprotest, Tom, you are grown intolerable lately; you used to tell usall the news of the town, and now you know no more of the world thanif you lived out of it."

Mr Edwards then began as follows: "The fault is not mine, madam: itlies in the dulness of the age, that doth nothing worth talkingof.----O la! though now I think on't there hath a terrible accidentbefallen poor Colonel Wilcox.----Poor Ned.----You know him, my lord,everybody knows him; faith! I am very much concerned for him."

"What is it, pray?" says Lady Bellaston.

"Why, he hath killed a man this morning in a duel, that's all."

His lordship, who was not in the secret, asked gravely, whom he hadkilled? To which Edwards answered, "A young fellow we none of us know;a Somersetshire lad just came to town, one Jones his name is; a nearrelation of one Mr Allworthy, of whom your lordship I believe hathheard. I saw the lad lie dead in a coffee-house.--Upon my soul, he isone of the finest corpses I ever saw in my life!"

Sophia, who had just began to deal as Tom had mentioned that a man waskilled, stopt her hand, and listened with attention (for all storiesof that kind affected her), but no sooner had he arrived at the latterpart of the story than she began to deal again; and having dealt threecards to one, and seven to another, and ten to a third, at last droptthe rest from her hand, and fell back in her chair.

The company behaved as usually on these occasions. The usualdisturbance ensued, the usual assistance was summoned, and Sophia atlast, as it is usual, returned again to life, and was soon after, ather earnest desire, led to her own apartment; where, at my lord'srequest, Lady Bellaston acquainted her with the truth, attempted tocarry it off as a jest of her own, and comforted her with repeatedassurances, that neither his lordship nor Tom, though she had taughthim the story, were in the true secret of the affair.

There was no farther evidence necessary to convince Lord Fellamar howjustly the case had been represented to him by Lady Bellaston; andnow, at her return into the room, a scheme was laid between these twonoble persons, which, though it appeared in no very heinous light tohis lordship (as he faithfully promised, and faithfully resolved too,to make the lady all the subsequent amends in his power by marriage),yet many of our readers, we doubt not, will see with just detestation.

The next evening at seven was appointed for the fatal purpose, whenLady Bellaston undertook that Sophia should be alone, and his lordshipshould be introduced to her. The whole family were to be regulated forthe purpose, most of the servants despatched out of the house; and forMrs Honour, who, to prevent suspicion, was to be left with hermistress till his lordship's arrival, Lady Bellaston herself was toengage her in an apartment as distant as possible from the scene ofthe intended mischief, and out of the hearing of Sophia.

Matters being thus agreed on, his lordship took his leave, and herladyship retired to rest, highly pleased with a project, of which shehad no reason to doubt the success, and which promised so effectuallyto remove Sophia from being any further obstruction to her amour withJones, by a means of which she should never appear to be guilty, evenif the fact appeared to the world; but this she made no doubt ofpreventing by huddling up a marriage, to which she thought theravished Sophia would easily be brought to consent, and at which allthe rest of her family would rejoice.

But affairs were not in so quiet a situation in the bosom of the otherconspirator; his mind was tost in all the distracting anxiety so noblydescribed by Shakespear--

"Between the acting of a dreadful thing, And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream; The genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection."----

Though the violence of his passion had made him eagerly embrace thefirst hint of this design, especially as it came from a relation ofthe lady, yet when that friend to reflection, a pillow, had placed theaction itself in all its natural black colours before his eyes, withall the consequences which must, and those which might probably attendit, his resolution began to abate, or rather indeed to go over to theother side; and after a long conflict, which lasted a whole night,between honour and appetite, the former at length prevailed, and hedetermined to wait on Lady Bellaston, and to relinquish the design.

Lady Bellaston was in bed, though very late in the morning, and Sophiasitting by her bed-side, when the servant acquainted her that LordFellamar was below in the parlour; upon which her ladyship desired himto stay, and that she would see him presently; but the servant was nosooner departed than poor Sophia began to intreat her cousin not toencourage the visits of that odious lord (so she called him, though alittle unjustly) upon her account. "I see his design," said she; "forhe made downright love to me yesterday morning; but as I am resolvednever to admit it, I beg your ladyship not to leave us alone togetherany more, and to order the servants that, if he enquires for me, I maybe always denied to him."

"La! child," says Lady Bellaston, "you country girls have nothing butsweethearts in your head; you fancy every man who is civil to you ismaking love. He is one of the most gallant young fellows about town,and I am convinced means no more than a little gallantry. Make love toyou indeed! I wish with all my heart he would, and you must be anarrant mad woman to refuse him."

"But as I shall certainly be that mad woman," cries Sophia, "I hopehis visits shall not be intruded upon me."

"O child!" said Lady Bellaston, "you need not be so fearful; if youresolve to run away with that Jones, I know no person who can hinderyou."

"Well, Miss Western," said the lady, "if you are not in a humour tosee company this morning, you may retire to your own apartment; for Iam not frightened at his lordship, and must send for him up into mydressing-room."

Sophia thanked her ladyship, and withdrew; and presently afterwardsFellamar was admitted upstairs.

Chapter iv.

By which it will appear how dangerous an advocate a lady is when sheapplies her eloquence to an ill purpose.

When Lady Bellaston heard the young lord's scruples, she treated themwith the same disdain with which one of those sages of the law, calledNewgate solicitors, treats the qualms of conscience in a youngwitness. "My dear lord," said she, "you certainly want a cordial. Imust send to Lady Edgely for one of her best drams. Fie upon it! havemore resolution. Are you frightened by the word rape? Or are youapprehensive----? Well! if the story of Helen was modern, I shouldthink it unnatural. I mean the behaviour of Paris, not the fondness ofthe lady; for all women love a man of spirit. There is another storyof the Sabine ladies--and that too, I thank heaven, is very antient.Your lordship, perhaps, will admire my reading; but I think Mr Hooktells us, they made tolerable good wives afterwards. I fancy few of mymarried acquaintance were ravished by their husbands." "Nay, dear LadyBellaston," cried he, "don't ridicule me in this manner." "Why, mygood lord," answered she, "do you think any woman in England would notlaugh at you in her heart, whatever prudery she might wear in hercountenance?----You force me to use a strange kind of language, and tobetray my sex most abominably; but I am contented with knowing myintentions are good, and that I am endeavouring to serve my cousin;for I think you will make her a husband notwithstanding this; or, uponmy soul, I would not even persuade her to fling herself away upon anempty title. She should not upbraid me hereafter with having lost aman of spirit; for that his enemies allow this poor young fellow tobe."

Let those who have had the satisfaction of hearing reflections of thiskind from a wife or a mistress, declare whether they are at allsweetened by coming from a female tongue. Certain it is, they sunkdeeper into his lordship than anything which Demosthenes or Cicerocould have said on the occasion.

Lady Bellaston, perceiving she had fired the young lord's pride, begannow, like a true orator, to rouse other passions to its assistance."My lord," says she, in a graver voice, "you will be pleased toremember, you mentioned this matter to me first; for I would notappear to you in the light of one who is endeavouring to put off mycousin upon you. Fourscore thousand pounds do not stand in need of anadvocate to recommend them." "Nor doth Miss Western," said he,"require any recommendation from her fortune; for, in my opinion, nowoman ever had half her charms." "Yes, yes, my lord," replied thelady, looking in the glass, "there have been women with more than halfher charms, I assure you; not that I need lessen her on that account:she is a most delicious girl, that's certain; and within these fewhours she will be in the arms of one, who surely doth not deserve her,though I will give him his due, I believe he is truly a man ofspirit."

"I hope so, madam," said my lord; "though I must own he doth notdeserve her; for, unless heaven or your ladyship disappoint me, sheshall within that time be in mine."

The remainder of this scene consisted entirely of raptures, excuses,and compliments, very pleasant to have heard from the parties; butrather dull when related at second hand. Here, therefore, we shall putan end to this dialogue, and hasten to the fatal hour when everythingwas prepared for the destruction of poor Sophia.

But this being the most tragical matter in our whole history, we shalltreat it in a chapter by itself.

Chapter v.

Containing some matters which may affect, and others which maysurprize, the reader.

The clock had now struck seven, and poor Sophia, alone and melancholy,sat reading a tragedy. It was the Fatal Marriage; and she was now cometo that part where the poor distrest Isabella disposes of herwedding-ring.

Here the book dropt from her hand, and a shower of tears ran down intoher bosom. In this situation she had continued a minute, when the dooropened, and in came Lord Fellamar. Sophia started from her chair athis entrance; and his lordship advancing forwards, and making a lowbow, said, "I am afraid, Miss Western, I break in upon you abruptly.""Indeed, my lord," says she, "I must own myself a little surprized atthis unexpected visit." "If this visit be unexpected, madam," answeredLord Fellamar, "my eyes must have been very faithless interpreters ofmy heart, when last I had the honour of seeing you; for surely youcould not otherwise have hoped to detain my heart in your possession,without receiving a visit from its owner." Sophia, confused as shewas, answered this bombast (and very properly I think) with a look ofinconceivable disdain. My lord then made another and a longer speechof the same sort. Upon which Sophia, trembling, said, "Am I really toconceive your lordship to be out of your senses? Sure, my lord, thereis no other excuse for such behaviour." "I am, indeed, madam, in thesituation you suppose," cries his lordship; "and sure you will pardonthe effects of a frenzy which you yourself have occasioned; for lovehath so totally deprived me of reason, that I am scarce accountablefor any of my actions." "Upon my word, my lord," said Sophia, "Ineither understand your words nor your behaviour." "Suffer me then,madam," cries he, "at your feet to explain both, by laying open mysoul to you, and declaring that I doat on you to the highest degree ofdistraction. O most adorable, most divine creature! what language canexpress the sentiments of my heart?" "I do assure you, my lord," saidSophia, "I shall not stay to hear any more of this." "Do not," crieshe, "think of leaving me thus cruelly; could you know half thetorments which I feel, that tender bosom must pity what those eyeshave caused." Then fetching a deep sigh, and laying hold of her hand,he ran on for some minutes in a strain which would be little morepleasing to the reader than it was to the lady; and at last concludedwith a declaration, "That if he was master of the world, he would layit at her feet." Sophia then, forcibly pulling away her hand from his,answered with much spirit, "I promise you, sir, your world and itsmaster I should spurn from me with equal contempt." She then offeredto go; and Lord Fellamar, again laying hold of her hand, said, "Pardonme, my beloved angel, freedoms which nothing but despair could havetempted me to take.----Believe me, could I have had any hope that mytitle and fortune, neither of them inconsiderable, unless whencompared with your worth, would have been accepted, I had, in thehumblest manner, presented them to your acceptance.----But I cannotlose you.--By heaven, I will sooner part with my soul!--You are, youmust, you shall be only mine." "My lord," says she, "I intreat you todesist from a vain pursuit; for, upon my honour, I will never hear youon this subject. Let go my hand, my lord; for I am resolved to go fromyou this moment; nor will I ever see you more." "Then, madam," crieshis lordship, "I must make the best use of this moment; for I cannotlive, nor will I live without you."----"What do you mean, my lord?"said Sophia; "I will raise the family." "I have no fear, madam,"answered he, "but of losing you, and that I am resolved to prevent,the only way which despair points to me."--He then caught her in hisarms: upon which she screamed so loud, that she must have alarmed someone to her assistance, had not Lady Bellaston taken care to remove allears.

But a more lucky circumstance happened for poor Sophia; another noisenow broke forth, which almost drowned her cries; for now the wholehouse rang with, "Where is she? D--n me, I'll unkennel her thisinstant. Show me her chamber, I say. Where is my daughter? I knowshe's in the house, and I'll see her if she's above-ground. Show mewhere she is."--At which last words the door flew open, and in cameSquire Western, with his parson and a set of myrmidons at his heels.

How miserable must have been the condition of poor Sophia, when theenraged voice of her father was welcome to her ears! Welcome indeed itwas, and luckily did he come; for it was the only accident upon earthwhich could have preserved the peace of her mind from being for everdestroyed.

Sophia, notwithstanding her fright, presently knew her father's voice;and his lordship, notwithstanding his passion, knew the voice ofreason, which peremptorily assured him, it was not now a time for theperpetration of his villany. Hearing, therefore, the voice approach,and hearing likewise whose it was (for as the squire more than onceroared forth the word daughter, so Sophia, in the midst of herstruggling, cried out upon her father), he thought proper torelinquish his prey, having only disordered her handkerchief, and withhis rude lips committed violence on her lovely neck.

If the reader's imagination doth not assist me, I shall never be ableto describe the situation of these two persons when Western came intothe room. Sophia tottered into a chair, where she sat disordered,pale, breathless, bursting with indignation at Lord Fellamar;affrighted, and yet more rejoiced, at the arrival of her father.

His lordship sat down near her, with the bag of his wig hanging overone of his shoulders, the rest of his dress being somewhat disordered,and rather a greater proportion of linen than is usual appearing athis bosom. As to the rest, he was amazed, affrighted, vexed, andashamed.

As to Squire Western, he happened at this time to be overtaken by anenemy, which very frequently pursues, and seldom fails to overtake,most of the country gentlemen in this kingdom. He was, literallyspeaking, drunk; which circumstance, together with his naturalimpetuosity, could produce no other effect than his runningimmediately up to his daughter, upon whom he fell foul with his tonguein the most inveterate manner; nay, he had probably committed violencewith his hands, had not the parson interposed, saying, "For heaven'ssake, sir, animadvert that you are in the house of a great lady. Letme beg you to mitigate your wrath; it should minister a fulness ofsatisfaction that you have found your daughter; for as to revenge, itbelongeth not unto us. I discern great contrition in the countenanceof the young lady. I stand assured, if you will forgive her, she willrepent her of all past offences, and return unto her duty."

The strength of the parson's arms had at first been of more servicethan the strength of his rhetoric. However, his last words wroughtsome effect, and the squire answered, "I'll forgee her if she wull haun. If wot ha un, Sophy, I'll forgee thee all. Why dost unt speak?Shat ha un! d--n me, shat ha un! Why dost unt answer? Was ever such astubborn tuoad?"

"Let me intreat you, sir, to be a little more moderate," said theparson; "you frighten the young lady so, that you deprive her of allpower of utterance."

"Power of mine a--," answered the squire. "You take her part then,you do? A pretty parson, truly, to side with an undutiful child! Yes,yes, I will gee you a living with a pox. I'll gee un to the devilsooner."

My Lady Bellaston now entered the room, and came up to the squire, whono sooner saw her, than, resolving to follow the instructions of hissister, he made her a very civil bow, in the rural manner, and paidher some of his best compliments. He then immediately proceeded to hiscomplaints, and said, "There, my lady cousin; there stands the mostundutiful child in the world; she hankers after a beggarly rascal, andwon't marry one of the greatest matches in all England, that we haveprovided for her."

"Indeed, cousin Western," answered the lady, "I am persuaded you wrongmy cousin. I am sure she hath a better understanding. I am convincedshe will not refuse what she must be sensible is so much to heradvantage."

This was a wilful mistake in Lady Bellaston, for she well knew whom MrWestern meant; though perhaps she thought he would easily bereconciled to his lordship's proposals.

"Do you hear there," quoth the squire, "what her ladyship says? Allyour family are for the match. Come, Sophy, be a good girl, and bedutiful, and make your father happy."

"If my death will make you happy, sir," answered Sophia, "you willshortly be so."

"It's a lye, Sophy; it's a d--n'd lye, and you know it," said thesquire.

"Indeed, Miss Western," said Lady Bellaston, "you injure your father;he hath nothing in view but your interest in this match; and I and allyour friends must acknowledge the highest honour done to your familyin the proposal."

"Ay, all of us," quoth the squire; "nay, it was no proposal of mine.She knows it was her aunt proposed it to me first.--Come, Sophy, oncemore let me beg you to be a good girl, and gee me your consent beforeyour cousin."

"Let me give him your hand, cousin," said the lady. "It is the fashionnow-a-days to dispense with time and long courtships."

"Pugh!" said the squire, "what signifies time; won't they have timeenough to court afterwards? People may court very well after they havebeen a-bed together."

As Lord Fellamar was very well assured that he was meant by LadyBellaston, so, never having heard nor suspected a word of Blifil, hemade no doubt of his being meant by the father. Coming up, therefore,to the squire, he said, "Though I have not the honour, sir, of beingpersonally known to you, yet, as I find I have the happiness to havemy proposals accepted, let me intercede, sir, in behalf of the younglady, that she may not be more solicited at this time."

"You intercede, sir!" said the squire; "why, who the devil are you?"

"Sir, I am Lord Fellamar," answered he, "and am the happy man whom Ihope you have done the honour of accepting for a son-in-law."

"You are a son of a b----," replied the squire, "for all your lacedcoat. You my son-in-law, and be d--n'd to you!"

"I shall take more from you, sir, than from any man," answered thelord; "but I must inform you that I am not used to hear such languagewithout resentment."

"Resent my a--," quoth the squire. "Don't think I am afraid of such afellow as thee art! because hast got a spit there dangling at thyside. Lay by your spit, and I'll give thee enough of meddling withwhat doth not belong to thee. I'll teach you to father-in-law me. I'lllick thy jacket."

"It's very well, sir," said my lord, "I shall make no disturbancebefore the ladies. I am very well satisfied. Your humble servant, sir;Lady Bellaston, your most obedient."

His lordship was no sooner gone, than Lady Bellaston, coming up to MrWestern, said, "Bless me, sir, what have you done? You know not whomyou have affronted; he is a nobleman of the first rank and fortune,and yesterday made proposals to your daughter; and such as I am sureyou must accept with the highest pleasure."

"Answer for yourself, lady cousin," said the squire, "I will havenothing to do with any of your lords. My daughter shall have an honestcountry gentleman; I have pitched upon one for her--and she shall ha'un.--I am sorry for the trouble she hath given your ladyship with allmy heart." Lady Bellaston made a civil speech upon the word trouble;to which the squire answered--"Why, that's kind--and I would do asmuch for your ladyship. To be sure relations should do for oneanother. So I wish your ladyship a good night.--Come, madam, you mustgo along with me by fair means, or I'll have you carried down to thecoach."

Sophia said she would attend him without force; but begged to go in achair, for she said she should not be able to ride any other way.

"Prithee," cries the squire, "wout unt persuade me canst not ride in acoach, wouldst? That's a pretty thing surely! No, no, I'll never letthee out of my sight any more till art married, that I promise thee."Sophia told him, she saw he was resolved to break her heart. "O breakthy heart and be d--n'd," quoth he, "if a good husband will break it.I don't value a brass varden, not a halfpenny, of any undutiful b--upon earth." He then took violent hold of her hand; upon which theparson once more interfered, begging him to use gentle methods. Atthat the squire thundered out a curse, and bid the parson hold histongue, saying, "At'nt in pulpit now? when art a got up there I nevermind what dost say; but I won't be priest-ridden, nor taught how tobehave myself by thee. I wish your ladyship a good-night. Come along,Sophy; be a good girl, and all shall be well. Shat ha' un, d--n me,shat ha' un!"

Mrs Honour appeared below-stairs, and with a low curtesy to the squireoffered to attend her mistress; but he pushed her away, saying, "Hold,madam, hold, you come no more near my house." "And will you take mymaid away from me?" said Sophia. "Yes, indeed, madam, will I," criesthe squire: "you need not fear being without a servant; I will get youanother maid, and a better maid than this, who, I'd lay five pounds toa crown, is no more a maid than my grannum. No, no, Sophy, she shallcontrive no more escapes, I promise you." He then packed up hisdaughter and the parson into the hackney coach, after which he mountedhimself, and ordered it to drive to his lodgings. In the way thitherhe suffered Sophia to be quiet, and entertained himself with reading alecture to the parson on good manners, and a proper behaviour to hisbetters.

It is possible he might not so easily have carried off his daughterfrom Lady Bellaston, had that good lady desired to have detained her;but, in reality, she was not a little pleased with the confinementinto which Sophia was going; and as her project with Lord Fellamar hadfailed of success, she was well contented that other violent methodswere now going to be used in favour of another man.

Chapter vi.

By what means the squire came to discover his daughter.

Though the reader, in many histories, is obliged to digest much moreunaccountable appearances than this of Mr Western, without anysatisfaction at all; yet, as we dearly love to oblige him whenever itis in our power, we shall now proceed to shew by what method thesquire discovered where his daughter was.

In the third chapter, then, of the preceding book, we gave a hint (forit is not our custom to unfold at any time more than is necessary forthe occasion) that Mrs Fitzpatrick, who was very desirous ofreconciling her uncle and aunt Western, thought she had a probableopportunity, by the service of preserving Sophia from committing thesame crime which had drawn on herself the anger of her family. Aftermuch deliberation, therefore, she resolved to inform her aunt Westernwhere her cousin was, and accordingly she writ the following letter,which we shall give the reader at length, for more reasons than one.

"HONOURED MADAM,

"The occasion of my writing this will perhaps make a letter of mine agreeable to my dear aunt, for the sake of one of her nieces, though I have little reason to hope it will be so on the account of another.

"Without more apology, as I was coming to throw my unhappy self at your feet, I met, by the strangest accident in the world, my cousin Sophy, whose history you are better acquainted with than myself, though, alas! I know infinitely too much; enough indeed to satisfy me, that unless she is immediately prevented, she is in danger of running into the same fatal mischief, which, by foolishly and ignorantly refusing your most wise and prudent advice, I have unfortunately brought on myself.

"In short, I have seen the man, nay, I was most part of yesterday in his company, and a charming young fellow I promise you he is. By what accident he came acquainted with me is too tedious to tell you now; but I have this morning changed my lodgings to avoid him, lest he should by my means discover my cousin; for he doth not yet know where she is, and it is adviseable he should not, till my uncle hath secured her.----No time therefore is to be lost; and I need only inform you, that she is now with Lady Bellaston, whom I have seen, and who hath, I find, a design of concealing her from her family. You know, madam, she is a strange woman; but nothing could misbecome me more than to presume to give any hint to one of your great understanding and great knowledge of the world, besides barely informing you of the matter of fact.

"I hope, madam, the care which I have shewn on this occasion for the good of my family will recommend me again to the favour of a lady who hath always exerted so much zeal for the honour and true interest of us all; and that it may be a means of restoring me to your friendship, which hath made so great a part of my former, and is so necessary to my future happiness.

Mrs Western was now at her brother's house, where she had resided eversince the flight of Sophia, in order to administer comfort to the poorsquire in his affliction. Of this comfort, which she doled out to himin daily portions, we have formerly given a specimen.

She was now standing with her back to the fire, and, with a pinch ofsnuff in her hand, was dealing forth this daily allowance of comfortto the squire, while he smoaked his afternoon pipe, when she receivedthe above letter; which she had no sooner read than she delivered itto him, saying, "There, sir, there is an account of your lost sheep.Fortune hath again restored her to you, and if you will be governed bymy advice, it is possible you may yet preserve her."

The squire had no sooner read the letter than he leaped from hischair, threw his pipe into the fire, and gave a loud huzza for joy. Hethen summoned his servants, called for his boots, and ordered theChevalier and several other horses to be saddled, and that parsonSupple should be immediately sent for. Having done this, he turned tohis sister, caught her in his arms, and gave her a close embrace,saying, "Zounds! you don't seem pleased; one would imagine you wassorry I have found the girl."

"Brother," answered she, "the deepest politicians, who see to thebottom, discover often a very different aspect of affairs, from whatswims on the surface. It is true, indeed, things do look rather lessdesperate than they did formerly in Holland, when Lewis the Fourteenthwas at the gates of Amsterdam; but there is a delicacy required inthis matter, which you will pardon me, brother, if I suspect you want.There is a decorum to be used with a woman of figure, such as LadyBellaston, brother, which requires a knowledge of the world, superior,I am afraid, to yours."

"Sister," cries the squire, "I know you have no opinion of my parts;but I'll shew you on this occasion who is a fool. Knowledge, quotha! Ihave not been in the country so long without having some knowledge ofwarrants and the law of the land. I know I may take my own wherever Ican find it. Shew me my own daughter, and if I don't know how to comeat her, I'll suffer you to call me a fool as long as I live. There bejustices of peace in London, as well as in other places."

"I protest," cries she, "you make me tremble for the event of thismatter, which, if you will proceed by my advice, you may bring to sogood an issue. Do you really imagine, brother, that the house of awoman of figure is to be attacked by warrants and brutal justices ofthe peace? I will inform you how to proceed. As soon as you arrive intown, and have got yourself into a decent dress (for indeed, brother,you have none at present fit to appear in), you must send yourcompliments to Lady Bellaston, and desire leave to wait on her. Whenyou are admitted to her presence, as you certainly will be, and havetold her your story, and have made proper use of my name (for I thinkyou just know one another only by sight, though you are relations), Iam confident she will withdraw her protection from my niece, who hathcertainly imposed upon her. This is the only method.--Justices ofpeace, indeed! do you imagine any such event can arrive to a woman offigure in a civilised nation?"

"D--n their figures," cries the squire; "a pretty civilised nation,truly, where women are above the law. And what must I stand sending aparcel of compliments to a confounded whore, that keeps away adaughter from her own natural father? I tell you, sister, I am not soignorant as you think me----I know you would have women above the law,but it is all a lye; I heard his lordship say at size, that no one isabove the law. But this of yours is Hanover law, I suppose."

"Mr Western," said she, "I think you daily improve in ignorance.----Iprotest you are grown an arrant bear."

"No more a bear than yourself, sister Western," said thesquire.--"Pox! you may talk of your civility an you will, I am sureyou never shew any to me. I am no bear, no, nor no dog neither, thoughI know somebody, that is something that begins with a b; but pox! Iwill show you I have got more good manners than some folks."

"Mr Western," answered the lady, "you may say what you please, _jevous mesprise de tout mon coeur._ I shall not therefore beangry.----Besides, as my cousin, with that odious Irish name, justlysays, I have that regard for the honour and true interest of myfamily, and that concern for my niece, who is a part of it, that Ihave resolved to go to town myself upon this occasion; for indeed,indeed, brother, you are not a fit minister to be employed at a politecourt.--Greenland--Greenland should always be the scene of thetramontane negociation."

"I thank Heaven," cries the squire, "I don't understand you now. Youare got to your Hanoverian linguo. However, I'll shew you I scorn tobe behind-hand in civility with you; and as you are not angry for whatI have said, so I am not angry for what you have said. Indeed I havealways thought it a folly for relations to quarrel; and if they do nowand then give a hasty word, why, people should give and take; for mypart, I never bear malice; and I take it very kind of you to go up toLondon; for I never was there but twice in my life, and then I did notstay above a fortnight at a time, and to be sure I can't be expectedto know much of the streets and the folks in that time. I never deniedthat you know'd all these matters better than I. For me to disputethat would be all as one as for you to dispute the management of apack of dogs, or the finding a hare sitting, with me."--"Which Ipromise you," says she, "I never will."--"Well, and I promise you,"returned he, "that I never will dispute the t'other."

Here then a league was struck (to borrow a phrase from the lady)between the contending parties; and now the parson arriving, and thehorses being ready, the squire departed, having promised his sister tofollow her advice, and she prepared to follow him the next day.

But having communicated these matters to the parson on the road, theyboth agreed that the prescribed formalities might very well bedispensed with; and the squire, having changed his mind, proceeded inthe manner we have already seen.

Chapter vii.

In which various misfortunes befel poor Jones.

Affairs were in the aforesaid situation when Mrs Honour arrived at MrsMiller's, and called Jones out from the company, as we have beforeseen, with whom, when she found herself alone, she began as follows:--

"O, my dear sir! how shall I get spirits to tell you; you are undone,sir, and my poor lady's undone, and I am undone." "Hath anythinghappened to Sophia?" cries Jones, staring like a madman. "All that isbad," cries Honour: "Oh, I shall never get such another lady! Oh thatI should ever live to see this day!" At these words Jones turned paleas ashes, trembled, and stammered; but Honour went on--"O! Mr Jones, Ihave lost my lady for ever." "How? what! for Heaven's sake, tell me.O, my dear Sophia!" "You may well call her so," said Honour; "she wasthe dearest lady to me. I shall never have such anotherplace."----"D--n your place!" cries Jones; "where is--what--what isbecome of my Sophia?" "Ay, to be sure," cries she, "servants may bed--n'd. It signifies nothing what becomes of them, though they areturned away, and ruined ever so much. To be sure they are not fleshand blood like other people. No, to be sure, it signifies nothing whatbecomes of them." "If you have any pity, any compassion," cries Jones,"I beg you will instantly tell me what hath happened to Sophia?" "Tobe sure, I have more pity for you than you have for me," answeredHonour; "I don't d--n you because you have lost the sweetest lady inthe world. To be sure you are worthy to be pitied, and I am worthy tobe pitied too: for, to be sure, if ever there was a good mistress----""What hath happened?" cries Jones, in almost a raving fit."What?--What?" said Honour: "Why, the worst that could have happenedboth for you and for me.--Her father is come to town, and hath carriedher away from us both." Here Jones fell on his knees in thanksgivingthat it was no worse. "No worse!" repeated Honour; "what could beworse for either of us? He carried her off, swearing she should marryMr Blifil; that's for your comfort; and, for poor me, I am turned outof doors." "Indeed, Mrs Honour," answered Jones, "you frightened meout of my wits. I imagined some most dreadful sudden accident hadhappened to Sophia; something, compared to which, even seeing hermarried to Blifil would be a trifle; but while there is life there arehopes, my dear Honour. Women in this land of liberty, cannot bemarried by actual brutal force." "To be sure, sir," said she, "that'strue. There may be some hopes for you; but alack-a-day! what hopes arethere for poor me? And to be sure, sir, you must be sensible I sufferall this upon your account. All the quarrel the squire hath to me isfor taking your part, as I have done, against Mr Blifil." "Indeed, MrsHonour," answered he, "I am sensible of my obligations to you, andwill leave nothing in my power undone to make you amends." "Alas!sir," said she, "what can make a servant amends for the loss of oneplace but the getting another altogether as good?" "Do not despair,Mrs Honour," said Jones, "I hope to reinstate you again in the same.""Alack-a-day, sir," said she, "how can I flatter myself with suchhopes when I know it is a thing impossible? for the squire is so setagainst me: and yet, if you should ever have my lady, as to be sure Inow hopes heartily you will; for you are a generous, good-naturedgentleman; and I am sure you loves her, and to be sure she loves youas dearly as her own soul; it is a matter in vain to deny it; becauseas why, everybody, that is in the least acquainted with my lady, mustsee it; for, poor dear lady, she can't dissemble: and if two peoplewho loves one another a'n't happy, why who should be so? Happinessdon't always depend upon what people has; besides, my lady has enoughfor both. To be sure, therefore, as one may say, it would be all thepity in the world to keep two such loviers asunder; nay, I amconvinced, for my part, you will meet together at last; for, if it isto be, there is no preventing it. If a marriage is made in heaven, allthe justices of peace upon earth can't break it off. To be sure Iwishes that parson Supple had but a little more spirit, to tell thesquire of his wickedness in endeavouring to force his daughtercontrary to her liking; but then his whole dependance is on thesquire; and so the poor gentleman, though he is a very religious goodsort of man, and talks of the badness of such doings behind thesquire's back, yet he dares not say his soul is his own to his face.To be sure I never saw him make so bold as just now; I was afeard thesquire would have struck him. I would not have your honour bemelancholy, sir, nor despair; things may go better, as long as you aresure of my lady, and that I am certain you may be; for she never willbe brought to consent to marry any other man. Indeed I am terriblyafeared the squire will do her a mischief in his passion, for he is aprodigious passionate gentleman; and I am afeared too the poor ladywill be brought to break her heart, for she is as tender-hearted as achicken. It is pity, methinks, she had not a little of my courage. IfI was in love with a young man, and my father offered to lock me up,I'd tear his eyes out but I'd come at him; but then there's a greatfortune in the case, which it is in her father's power either to giveher or not; that, to be sure, may make some difference."

Whether Jones gave strict attention to all the foregoing harangue, orwhether it was for want of any vacancy in the discourse, I cannotdetermine; but he never once attempted to answer, nor did she oncestop till Partridge came running into the room, and informed him thatthe great lady was upon the stairs.

Nothing could equal the dilemma to which Jones was now reduced. Honourknew nothing of any acquaintance that subsisted between him and LadyBellaston, and she was almost the last person in the world to whom hewould have communicated it. In this hurry and distress, he took (as iscommon enough) the worst course, and, instead of exposing her to thelady, which would have been of little consequence, he chose to exposethe lady to her; he therefore resolved to hide Honour, whom he had butjust time to convey behind the bed, and to draw the curtains.

The hurry in which Jones had been all day engaged on account of hispoor landlady and her family, the terrors occasioned by Mrs Honour,and the confusion into which he was thrown by the sudden arrival ofLady Bellaston, had altogether driven former thoughts out of his head;so that it never once occurred to his memory to act the part of a sickman; which, indeed, neither the gaiety of his dress, nor the freshnessof his countenance, would have at all supported.

He received her ladyship therefore rather agreeably to her desiresthan to her expectations, with all the good humour he could muster inhis countenance, and without any real or affected appearance of theleast disorder.

Lady Bellaston no sooner entered the room, than she squatted herselfdown on the bed: "So, my dear Jones," said she, "you find nothing candetain me long from you. Perhaps I ought to be angry with you, that Ihave neither seen nor heard from you all day; for I perceive yourdistemper would have suffered you to come abroad: nay, I suppose youhave not sat in your chamber all day drest up like a fine lady to seecompany after a lying-in; but, however, don't think I intend to scoldyou; for I never will give you an excuse for the cold behaviour of ahusband, by putting on the ill-humour of a wife."

"Nay, Lady Bellaston," said Jones, "I am sure your ladyship will notupbraid me with neglect of duty, when I only waited for orders. Who,my dear creature, hath reason to complain? Who missed an appointmentlast night, and left an unhappy man to expect, and wish, and sigh, andlanguish?"

"Do not mention it, my dear Mr Jones," cried she. "If you knew theoccasion, you would pity me. In short, it is impossible to conceivewhat women of condition are obliged to suffer from the impertinence offools, in order to keep up the farce of the world. I am glad, however,all your languishing and wishing have done you no harm; for you neverlooked better in your life. Upon my faith! Jones, you might at thisinstant sit for the picture of Adonis."

There are certain words of provocation which men of honour hold canproperly be answered only by a blow. Among lovers possibly there maybe some expressions which can be answered only by a kiss. Now thecompliment which Lady Bellaston now made Jones seems to be of thiskind, especially as it was attended with a look, in which the ladyconveyed more soft ideas than it was possible to express with hertongue.

Jones was certainly at this instant in one of the most disagreeableand distressed situations imaginable; for, to carry on the comparisonwe made use of before, though the provocation was given by the lady,Jones could not receive satisfaction, nor so much as offer to ask it,in the presence of a third person; seconds in this kind of duels notbeing according to the law of arms. As this objection did not occur toLady Bellaston, who was ignorant of any other woman being there butherself, she waited some time in great astonishment for an answer fromJones, who, conscious of the ridiculous figure he made, stood at adistance, and, not daring to give the proper answer, gave none at all.Nothing can be imagined more comic, nor yet more tragical, than thisscene would have been if it had lasted much longer. The lady hadalready changed colour two or three times; had got up from the bed andsat down again, while Jones was wishing the ground to sink under him,or the house to fall on his head, when an odd accident freed him froman embarrassment out of which neither the eloquence of a Cicero, northe politics of a Machiavel, could have delivered him, without utterdisgrace.

This was no other than the arrival of young Nightingale, dead drunk;or rather in that state of drunkenness which deprives men of the useof their reason without depriving them of the use of their limbs.

Mrs Miller and her daughters were in bed, and Partridge was smoakinghis pipe by the kitchen fire; so that he arrived at Mr Jones'schamber-door without any interruption. This he burst open, and wasentering without any ceremony, when Jones started from his seat andran to oppose him, which he did so effectually, that Nightingale nevercame far enough within the door to see who was sitting on the bed.

Nightingale had in reality mistaken Jones's apartment for that inwhich himself had lodged; he therefore strongly insisted on coming in,often swearing that he would not be kept from his own bed. Jones,however, prevailed over him, and delivered him into the hands ofPartridge, whom the noise on the stairs soon summoned to his master'sassistance.

And now Jones was unwillingly obliged to return to his own apartment,where at the very instant of his entrance he heard Lady Bellastonventing an exclamation, though not a very loud one; and at the sametime saw her flinging herself into a chair in a vast agitation, whichin a lady of a tender constitution would have been an hysteric fit.

In reality the lady, frightened with the struggle between the two men,of which she did not know what would be the issue, as she heardNightingale swear many oaths he would come to his own bed, attemptedto retire to her known place of hiding, which to her great confusionshe found already occupied by another.

"Is this usage to be borne, Mr Jones?" cries the lady.--"Basest ofmen?----What wretch is this to whom you have exposed me?" "Wretch!"cries Honour, bursting in a violent rage from her place ofconcealment--"Marry come up!----Wretch forsooth?----as poor a wretchas I am, I am honest; this is more than some folks who are richer cansay."

Jones, instead of applying himself directly to take off the edge ofMrs Honour's resentment, as a more experienced gallant would havedone, fell to cursing his stars, and lamenting himself as the mostunfortunate man in the world; and presently after, addressing himselfto Lady Bellaston, he fell to some very absurd protestations ofinnocence. By this time the lady, having recovered the use of herreason, which she had as ready as any woman in the world, especiallyon such occasions, calmly replied: "Sir, you need make no apologies, Isee now who the person is; I did not at first know Mrs Honour: but nowI do, I can suspect nothing wrong between her and you; and I am sureshe is a woman of too good sense to put any wrong constructions uponmy visit to you; I have been always her friend, and it may be in mypower to be much more hereafter."

Mrs Honour was altogether as placable as she was passionate. Hearing,therefore, Lady Bellaston assume the soft tone, she likewise softenedhers.----"I'm sure, madam," says she, "I have been always ready toacknowledge your ladyship's friendships to me; sure I never had sogood a friend as your ladyship----and to be sure, now I see it is yourladyship that I spoke to, I could almost bite my tongue off for verymad.--I constructions upon your ladyship--to be sure it doth notbecome a servant as I am to think about such a great lady--I mean Iwas a servant: for indeed I am nobody's servant now, the moremiserable wretch is me.--I have lost the best mistress----" HereHonour thought fit to produce a shower of tears.--"Don't cry, child,"says the good lady; "ways perhaps may be found to make you amends.Come to me to-morrow morning." She then took up her fan which lay onthe ground, and without even looking at Jones walked very majesticallyout of the room; there being a kind of dignity in the impudence ofwomen of quality, which their inferiors vainly aspire to attain to incircumstances of this nature.

Jones followed her downstairs, often offering her his hand, which sheabsolutely refused him, and got into her chair without taking anynotice of him as he stood bowing before her.

At his return upstairs, a long dialogue past between him and MrsHonour, while she was adjusting herself after the discomposure she hadundergone. The subject of this was his infidelity to her young lady;on which she enlarged with great bitterness; but Jones at last foundmeans to reconcile her, and not only so, but to obtain a promise ofmost inviolable secrecy, and that she would the next morning endeavourto find out Sophia, and bring him a further account of the proceedingsof the squire.

Thus ended this unfortunate adventure to the satisfaction only of MrsHonour; for a secret (as some of my readers will perhaps acknowledgefrom experience) is often a very valuable possession: and that notonly to those who faithfully keep it, but sometimes to such as whisperit about till it come to the ears of every one except the ignorantperson who pays for the supposed concealing of what is publicklyknown.

Chapter viii.

Short and sweet.

Notwithstanding all the obligations she had received from Jones, MrsMiller could not forbear in the morning some gentle remonstrances forthe hurricane which had happened the preceding night in his chamber.These were, however, so gentle and so friendly, professing, and indeedtruly, to aim at nothing more than the real good of Mr Jones himself,that he, far from being offended, thankfully received the admonitionof the good woman, expressed much concern for what had past, excusedit as well as he could, and promised never more to bring the samedisturbances into the house.

But though Mrs Miller did not refrain from a short expostulation inprivate at their first meeting, yet the occasion of his being summoneddownstairs that morning was of a much more agreeable kind, beingindeed to perform the office of a father to Miss Nancy, and to giveher in wedlock to Mr Nightingale, who was now ready drest, and full assober as many of my readers will think a man ought to be who receivesa wife in so imprudent a manner.

And here perhaps it may be proper to account for the escape which thisyoung gentleman had made from his uncle, and for his appearance in thecondition in which we have seen him the night before.

Now when the uncle had arrived at his lodgings with his nephew, partlyto indulge his own inclinations (for he dearly loved his bottle), andpartly to disqualify his nephew from the immediate execution of hispurpose, he ordered wine to be set on the table; with which he sobriskly plyed the young gentleman, that this latter, who, though notmuch used to drinking, did not detest it so as to be guilty ofdisobedience or want of complacence by refusing, was soon completelyfinished.

Just as the uncle had obtained this victory, and was preparing a bedfor his nephew, a messenger arrived with a piece of news, which soentirely disconcerted and shocked him, that he in a moment lost allconsideration for his nephew, and his whole mind became entirely takenup with his own concerns.

This sudden and afflicting news was no less than that his daughter hadtaken the opportunity of almost the first moment of his absence, andhad gone off with a neighbouring young clergyman; against whom, thoughher father could have had but one objection, namely, that he was worthnothing, yet she had never thought proper to communicate her amoureven to that father; and so artfully had she managed, that it hadnever been once suspected by any, till now that it was consummated.

Old Mr Nightingale no sooner received this account, than in the utmostconfusion he ordered a post-chaise to be instantly got ready, and,having recommended his nephew to the care of a servant, he directlyleft the house, scarce knowing what he did, nor whither he went.

The uncle thus departed, when the servant came to attend the nephew tobed, had waked him for that purpose, and had at last made him sensiblethat his uncle was gone, he, instead of accepting the kind officestendered him, insisted on a chair being called; with this the servant,who had received no strict orders to the contrary, readily complied;and, thus being conducted back to the house of Mrs Miller, he hadstaggered up to Mr Jones's chamber, as hath been before recounted.

This bar of the uncle being now removed (though young Nightingale knewnot as yet in what manner), and all parties being quickly ready, themother, Mr Jones, Mr Nightingale, and his love, stept into ahackney-coach, which conveyed them to Doctors' Commons; where MissNancy was, in vulgar language, soon made an honest woman, and the poormother became, in the purest sense of the word, one of the happiest ofall human beings.

And now Mr Jones, having seen his good offices to that poor woman andher family brought to a happy conclusion, began to apply himself tohis own concerns; but here, lest many of my readers should censure hisfolly for thus troubling himself with the affairs of others, and lestsome few should think he acted more disinterestedly than indeed hedid, we think proper to assure our reader, that he was so far frombeing unconcerned in this matter, that he had indeed a veryconsiderable interest in bringing it to that final consummation.

To explain this seeming paradox at once, he was one who could trulysay with him in Terence, _Homo sum: humani nihil a me alienum puto_.He was never an indifferent spectator of the misery or happiness ofany one; and he felt either the one or the other in great proportionas he himself contributed to either. He could not, therefore, be theinstrument of raising a whole family from the lowest state ofwretchedness to the highest pitch of joy without conveying greatfelicity to himself; more perhaps than worldly men often purchase tothemselves by undergoing the most severe labour, and often by wadingthrough the deepest iniquity.

Those readers who are of the same complexion with him will perhapsthink this short chapter contains abundance of matter; while othersmay probably wish, short as it is, that it had been totally spared asimpertinent to the main design, which I suppose they conclude is tobring Mr Jones to the gallows, or, if possible, to a more deplorablecatastrophe.

Chapter ix.

Containing love-letters of several sorts.

Mr Jones, at his return home, found the following letters lying on histable, which he luckily opened in the order they were sent.

LETTER I.

"Surely I am under some strange infatuation; I cannot keep my resolutions a moment, however strongly made or justly founded. Last night I resolved never to see you more; this morning I am willing to hear if you can, as you say, clear up this affair. And yet I know that to be impossible. I have said everything to myself which you can invent.----Perhaps not. Perhaps your invention is stronger. Come to me, therefore, the moment you receive this. If you can forge an excuse I almost promise you to believe it. Betrayed too----I will think no more.----Come to me directly.----This is the third letter I have writ, the two former are burnt----I am almost inclined to burn this too----I wish I may preserve my senses.----Come to me presently."

LETTER II.

"If you ever expect to be forgiven, or even suffered within my doors, come to me this instant."

LETTER III.

"I now find you was not at home when my notes came to your lodgings. The moment you receive this let me see you;--I shall not stir out; nor shall anybody be let in but yourself. Sure nothing can detain you long."

Jones had just read over these three billets when Mr Nightingale cameinto the room. "Well, Tom," said he, "any news from Lady Bellaston,after last night's adventure?" (for it was now no secret to any one inthat house who the lady was). "The Lady Bellaston?" answered Jonesvery gravely.----"Nay, dear Tom," cries Nightingale, "don't be soreserved to your friends. Though I was too drunk to see her lastnight, I saw her at the masquerade. Do you think I am ignorant who thequeen of the fairies is?" "And did you really then know the lady atthe masquerade?" said Jones. "Yes, upon my soul, did I," saidNightingale, "and have given you twenty hints of it since, though youseemed always so tender on that point, that I would not speak plainly.I fancy, my friend, by your extreme nicety in this matter, you are notso well acquainted with the character of the lady as with her person.Don't be angry, Tom, but upon my honour, you are not the first youngfellow she hath debauched. Her reputation is in no danger, believeme."

Though Jones had no reason to imagine the lady to have been of thevestal kind when his amour began; yet, as he was thoroughly ignorantof the town, and had very little acquaintance in it, he had noknowledge of that character which is vulgarly called a demirep; thatis to say, a woman who intrigues with every man she likes, under thename and appearance of virtue; and who, though some over-nice ladieswill not be seen with her, is visited (as they term it) by the wholetown, in short, whom everybody knows to be what nobody calls her.

When he found, therefore, that Nightingale was perfectly acquaintedwith his intrigue, and began to suspect that so scrupulous a delicacyas he had hitherto observed was not quite necessary on the occasion,he gave a latitude to his friend's tongue, and desired him to speakplainly what he knew, or had ever heard of the lady.

Nightingale, who, in many other instances, was rather too effeminatein his disposition, had a pretty strong inclination to tittle-tattle.He had no sooner, therefore, received a full liberty of speaking fromJones, than he entered upon a long narrative concerning the lady;which, as it contained many particulars highly to her dishonour, wehave too great a tenderness for all women of condition to repeat. Wewould cautiously avoid giving an opportunity to the futurecommentators on our works, of making any malicious application and offorcing us to be, against our will, the author of scandal, which neverentered into our head.

Jones, having very attentively heard all that Nightingale had to say,fetched a deep sigh; which the other, observing, cried, "Heyday! why,thou art not in love, I hope! Had I imagined my stories would haveaffected you, I promise you should never have heard them." "O my dearfriend!" cries Jones, "I am so entangled with this woman, that I knownot how to extricate myself. In love, indeed! no, my friend, but I amunder obligations to her, and very great ones. Since you know so much,I will be very explicit with you. It is owing, perhaps, solely to her,that I have not, before this, wanted a bit of bread. How can Ipossibly desert such a woman? and yet I must desert her, or be guiltyof the blackest treachery to one who deserves infinitely better of methan she can; a woman, my Nightingale, for whom I have a passion whichfew can have an idea of. I am half distracted with doubts how to act.""And is this other, pray, an honourable mistress?" cries Nightingale."Honourable!" answered Jones; "no breath ever yet durst sully herreputation. The sweetest air is not purer, the limpid stream notclearer, than her honour. She is all over, both in mind and body,consummate perfection. She is the most beautiful creature in theuniverse: and yet she is mistress of such noble elevated qualities,that, though she is never from my thoughts, I scarce ever think of herbeauty but when I see it."--"And can you, my good friend," criesNightingale, "with such an engagement as this upon your hands,hesitate a moment about quitting such a--" "Hold," said Jones, "nomore abuse of her: I detest the thought of ingratitude." "Pooh!"answered the other, "you are not the first upon whom she hathconferred obligations of this kind. She is remarkably liberal whereshe likes; though, let me tell you, her favours are so prudentlybestowed, that they should rather raise a man's vanity than hisgratitude." In short, Nightingale proceeded so far on this head, andtold his friend so many stories of the lady, which he swore to thetruth of, that he entirely removed all esteem for her from the breastof Jones; and his gratitude was lessened in proportion. Indeed, hebegan to look on all the favours he had received rather as wages thanbenefits, which depreciated not only her, but himself too in his ownconceit, and put him quite out of humour with both. From this disgust,his mind, by a natural transition, turned towards Sophia; her virtue,her purity, her love to him, her sufferings on his account, filled allhis thoughts, and made his commerce with Lady Bellaston appear stillmore odious. The result of all was, that, though his turning himselfout of her service, in which light he now saw his affair with her,would be the loss of his bread; yet he determined to quit her, if hecould but find a handsome pretence: which being communicated to hisfriend, Nightingale considered a little, and then said, "I have it, myboy! I have found out a sure method; propose marriage to her, and Iwould venture hanging upon the success." "Marriage?" cries Jones. "Ay,propose marriage," answered Nightingale, "and she will declare off ina moment. I knew a young fellow whom she kept formerly, who made theoffer to her in earnest, and was presently turned off for his pains."

Jones declared he could not venture the experiment. "Perhaps," saidhe, "she may be less shocked at this proposal from one man than fromanother. And if she should take me at my word, where am I then?caught, in my own trap, and undone for ever." "No;" answeredNightingale, "not if I can give you an expedient by which you may atany time get out of the trap."----"What expedient can that be?"replied Jones. "This," answered Nightingale. "The young fellow Imentioned, who is one of the most intimate acquaintances I have in theworld, is so angry with her for some ill offices she hath since donehim, that I am sure he would, without any difficulty, give you a sightof her letters; upon which you may decently break with her; anddeclare off before the knot is tyed, if she should really be willingto tie it, which I am convinced she will not."

After some hesitation, Jones, upon the strength of this assurance,consented; but, as he swore he wanted the confidence to propose thematter to her face, he wrote the following letter, which Nightingaledictated:--

"MADAM,

"I am extremely concerned, that, by an unfortunate engagement abroad, I should have missed receiving the honour of your ladyship's commands the moment they came; and the delay which I must now suffer of vindicating myself to your ladyship greatly adds to this misfortune. O, Lady Bellaston! what a terror have I been in for fear your reputation should be exposed by these perverse accidents! There is one only way to secure it. I need not name what that is. Only permit me to say, that as your honour is as dear to me as my own, so my sole ambition is to have the glory of laying my liberty at your feet; and believe me when I assure you, I can never be made completely happy without you generously bestow on me a legal right of calling you mine for ever.--I am,

"When I read over your serious epistle, I could, from its coldness and formality, have sworn that you already had the legal right you mention; nay, that we had for many years composed that monstrous animal a husband and wife. Do you really then imagine me a fool? or do you fancy yourself capable of so entirely persuading me out of my senses, that I should deliver my whole fortune into your power, in order to enable you to support your pleasures at my expense? Are these the proofs of love which I expected? Is this the return for--? but I scorn to upbraid you, and am in great admiration of your profound respect.

"P.S. I am prevented from revising:----Perhaps I have said more than I meant.----Come to me at eight this evening."

Jones, by the advice of his privy-council, replied:

"MADAM,

"It is impossible to express how much I am shocked at the suspicion you entertain of me. Can Lady Bellaston have conferred favours on a man whom she could believe capable of so base a design? or can she treat the most solemn tie of love with contempt? Can you imagine, madam, that if the violence of my passion, in an unguarded moment, overcame the tenderness which I have for your honour, I would think of indulging myself in the continuance of an intercourse which could not possibly escape long the notice of the world; and which, when discovered, must prove so fatal to your reputation? If such be your opinion of me, I must pray for a sudden opportunity of returning those pecuniary obligations, which I have been so unfortunate to receive at your hands; and for those of a more tender kind, I shall ever remain, &c." And so concluded in the very words with which he had concluded the former letter.

The lady answered as follows:

"I see you are a villain! and I despise you from my soul. If you come here I shall not be at home."

Though Jones was well satisfied with his deliverance from a thraldomwhich those who have ever experienced it will, I apprehend, allow tobe none of the lightest, he was not, however, perfectly easy in hismind. There was in this scheme too much of fallacy to satisfy one whoutterly detested every species of falshood or dishonesty: nor wouldhe, indeed, have submitted to put it in practice, had he not beeninvolved in a distressful situation, where he was obliged to be guiltyof some dishonour, either to the one lady or the other; and surely thereader will allow, that every good principle, as well as love, pleadedstrongly in favour of Sophia.

Nightingale highly exulted in the success of his stratagem, upon whichhe received many thanks and much applause from his friend. Heanswered, "Dear Tom, we have conferred very different obligations oneach other. To me you owe the regaining your liberty; to you I owe theloss of mine. But if you are as happy in the one instance as I am inthe other, I promise you we are the two happiest fellows in England."

The two gentlemen were now summoned down to dinner, where Mrs Miller,who performed herself the office of cook, had exerted her best talentsto celebrate the wedding of her daughter. This joyful circumstance sheascribed principally to the friendly behaviour of Jones, her wholesoul was fired with gratitude towards him, and all her looks, words,and actions, were so busied in expressing it, that her daughter, andeven her new son-in-law, were very little objects of herconsideration.

Dinner was just ended when Mrs Miller received a letter; but as wehave had letters enow in this chapter, we shall communicate itscontents in our next.

Chapter x.

Consisting partly of facts, and partly of observations upon them.

The letter then which arrived at the end of the preceding chapter wasfrom Mr Allworthy, and the purport of it was, his intention to comeimmediately to town, with his nephew Blifil, and a desire to beaccommodated with his usual lodgings, which were the first floor forhimself, and the second for his nephew.

The chearfulness which had before displayed itself in the countenanceof the poor woman was a little clouded on this occasion. This news didindeed a good deal disconcert her. To requite so disinterested a matchwith her daughter, by presently turning her new son-in-law out ofdoors, appeared to her very unjustifiable on the one hand; and on theother, she could scarce bear the thoughts of making any excuse to MrAllworthy, after all the obligations received from him, for deprivinghim of lodgings which were indeed strictly his due; for thatgentleman, in conferring all his numberless benefits on others, actedby a rule diametrically opposite to what is practised by most generouspeople. He contrived, on all occasions, to hide his beneficence, notonly from the world, but even from the object of it. He constantlyused the words Lend and Pay, instead of Give; and by every othermethod he could invent, always lessened with his tongue the favours heconferred, while he was heaping them with both his hands. When hesettled the annuity of £50 a year therefore on Mrs Miller, he toldher, "it was in consideration of always having her first-floor when hewas in town (which he scarce ever intended to be), but that she mightlet it at any other time, for that he would always send her a month'swarning." He was now, however, hurried to town so suddenly, that hehad no opportunity of giving such notice; and this hurry probablyprevented him, when he wrote for his lodgings, adding, if they werethen empty; for he would most certainly have been well satisfied tohave relinquished them, on a less sufficient excuse than what MrsMiller could now have made.

But there are a sort of persons, who, as Prior excellently wellremarks, direct their conduct by something

Beyond the fix'd and settled rules Of vice and virtue in the schools, Beyond the letter of the law.

To these it is so far from being sufficient that their defence wouldacquit them at the Old Bailey, that they are not even contented,though conscience, the severest of all judges, should discharge them.Nothing short of the fair and honourable will satisfy the delicacy oftheir minds; and if any of their actions fall short of this mark, theymope and pine, are as uneasy and restless as a murderer, who is afraidof a ghost, or of the hangman.

Mrs Miller was one of these. She could not conceal her uneasiness atthis letter; with the contents of which she had no sooner acquaintedthe company, and given some hints of her distress, than Jones, hergood angel, presently relieved her anxiety. "As for myself, madam,"said he, "my lodging is at your service at a moment's warning; and MrNightingale, I am sure, as he cannot yet prepare a house fit toreceive his lady, will consent to return to his new lodging, whitherMrs Nightingale will certainly consent to go." With which proposalboth husband and wife instantly agreed.

The reader will easily believe, that the cheeks of Mrs Miller beganagain to glow with additional gratitude to Jones; but, perhaps, it maybe more difficult to persuade him, that Mr Jones having in his lastspeech called her daughter Mrs Nightingale (it being the first timethat agreeable sound had ever reached her ears), gave the fond mothermore satisfaction, and warmed her heart more towards Jones, than hishaving dissipated her present anxiety.

The next day was then appointed for the removal of the new-marriedcouple, and of Mr Jones, who was likewise to be provided for in thesame house with his friend. And now the serenity of the company wasagain restored, and they past the day in the utmost chearfulness, allexcept Jones, who, though he outwardly accompanied the rest in theirmirth, felt many a bitter pang on the account of his Sophia, whichwere not a little heightened by the news of Mr Blifil's coming to town(for he clearly saw the intention of his journey); and what greatlyaggravated his concern was, that Mrs Honour, who had promised toinquire after Sophia, and to make her report to him early the nextevening, had disappointed him.

In the situation that he and his mistress were in at this time, therewere scarce any grounds for him to hope that he should hear any goodnews; yet he was as impatient to see Mrs Honour as if he had expectedshe would bring him a letter with an assignation in it from Sophia,and bore the disappointment as ill. Whether this impatience arose fromthat natural weakness of the human mind, which makes it desirous toknow the worst, and renders uncertainty the most intolerable of pains;or whether he still flattered himself with some secret hopes, we willnot determine. But that it might be the last, whoever has loved cannotbut know. For of all the powers exercised by this passion over ourminds, one of the most wonderful is that of supporting hope in themidst of despair. Difficulties, improbabilities, nay, impossibilities,are quite overlooked by it; so that to any man extremely in love, maybe applied what Addison says of Caesar,

"The Alps, and Pyrenaeans, sink before him!"

Yet it is equally true, that the same passion will sometimes makemountains of molehills, and produce despair in the midst of hope; butthese cold fits last not long in good constitutions. Which temperJones was now in, we leave the reader to guess, having no exactinformation about it; but this is certain, that he had spent two hoursin expectation, when, being unable any longer to conceal hisuneasiness, he retired to his room; where his anxiety had almost madehim frantick, when the following letter was brought him from MrsHonour, with which we shall present the reader _verbatim etliteratim._

"SIR,

"I shud sartenly haf kaled on you a cordin too mi prommiss haddunt itt bin that hur lashipp prevent mee; for to bee sur, Sir, you nose very well that evere persun must luk furst at ome, and sartenly such anuther offar mite not have ever hapned, so as I shud ave bin justly to blam, had I not excepted of it when her lashipp was so veri kind as to offar to mak mee hur one uman without mi ever askin any such thing, to be sur shee is won of thee best ladis in thee wurld, and pepil who sase to the kontrari must bee veri wiket pepil in thare harts. To bee sur if ever I ave sad any thing of that kine it as bin thru ignorens, and I am hartili sorri for it. I nose your onur to be a genteelman of more onur and onesty, if I ever said ani such thing, to repete it to hurt a pore servant that as alwais add thee gratest respect in thee wurld for ure onur. To be sur won shud kepe wons tung within wons teeth, for no boddi nose what may hapen; and to bee sur if ani boddi ad tolde mee yesterday, that I shud haf bin in so gud a plase to day, I shud not haf beleeved it; for to be sur I never was a dremd of any such thing, nor shud I ever have soft after ani other bodi's plase; but as her lashipp wass so kine of her one a cord too give it mee without askin, to be sur Mrs Etoff herself, nor no other boddi can blam mee for exceptin such a thing when it fals in mi waye. I beg ure Onur not to menshion ani thing of what I haf sad, for I wish ure Onur all thee gud luk in the wurld; and I don't cuestion butt thatt u will haf Madam Sofia in the end; butt ass to miself ure onur nose I kant bee of ani farder sarvis to u in that matar, nou bein under thee cumand off anuther parson, and nott mi one mistress, I begg ure Onur to say nothing of what past, and belive me to be, sir, ure Onur's umble servant to cumand till deth,

"HONOUR BLACKMORE."

Various were the conjectures which Jones entertained on this step ofLady Bellaston; who, in reality, had little farther design than tosecure within her own house the repository of a secret, which shechose should make no farther progress than it had made already; butmostly, she desired to keep it from the ears of Sophia; for thoughthat young lady was almost the only one who would never have repeatedit again, her ladyship could not persuade herself of this; since, asshe now hated poor Sophia with most implacable hatred, she conceived areciprocal hatred to herself to be lodged in the tender breast of ourheroine, where no such passion had ever yet found an entrance.

While Jones was terrifying himself with the apprehension of a thousanddreadful machinations, and deep political designs, which he imaginedto be at the bottom of the promotion of Honour, Fortune, who hithertoseems to have been an utter enemy to his match with Sophia, tried anew method to put a final end to it, by throwing a temptation in hisway, which in his present desperate situation it seemed unlikely heshould be able to resist.

Chapter xi.

Containing curious, but not unprecedented matter.

There was a lady, one Mrs Hunt, who had often seen Jones at the housewhere he lodged, being intimately acquainted with the women there, andindeed a very great friend to Mrs Miller. Her age was about thirty,for she owned six-and-twenty; her face and person very good, onlyinclining a little too much to be fat. She had been married young byher relations to an old Turkey merchant, who, having got a greatfortune, had left off trade. With him she lived without reproach, butnot without pain, in a state of great self-denial, for about twelveyears; and her virtue was rewarded by his dying and leaving her veryrich. The first year of her widowhood was just at an end, and she hadpast it in a good deal of retirement, seeing only a few particularfriends, and dividing her time between her devotions and novels, ofwhich she was always extremely fond. Very good health, a very warmconstitution, and a good deal of religion, made it absolutelynecessary for her to marry again; and she resolved to please herselfin her second husband, as she had done her friends in the first. Fromher the following billet was brought to Jones:--

"SIR,

"From the first day I saw you, I doubt my eyes have told you too plainly that you were not indifferent to me; but neither my tongue nor my hand should have ever avowed it, had not the ladies of the family where you are lodged given me such a character of you, and told me such proofs of your virtue and goodness, as convince me you are not only the most agreeable, but the most worthy of men. I have also the satisfaction to hear from them, that neither my person, understanding, or character, are disagreeable to you. I have a fortune sufficient to make us both happy, but which cannot make me so without you. In thus disposing of myself, I know I shall incur the censure of the world; but if I did not love you more than I fear the world, I should not be worthy of you. One only difficulty stops me: I am informed you are engaged in a commerce of gallantry with a woman of fashion. If you think it worth while to sacrifice that to the possession of me, I am yours; if not, forget my weakness, and let this remain an eternal secret between you and

"ARABELLA HUNT."

At the reading of this, Jones was put into a violent flutter. Hisfortune was then at a very low ebb, the source being stopt from whichhitherto he had been supplied. Of all he had received from LadyBellaston, not above five guineas remained; and that very morning hehad been dunned by a tradesman for twice that sum. His honourablemistress was in the hands of her father, and he had scarce any hopesever to get her out of them again. To be subsisted at her expense,from that little fortune she had independent of her father, went muchagainst the delicacy both of his pride and his love. This lady'sfortune would have been exceeding convenient to him, and he could haveno objection to her in any respect. On the contrary, he liked her aswell as he did any woman except Sophia. But to abandon Sophia, andmarry another, that was impossible; he could not think of it upon anyaccount, Yet why should he not, since it was plain she could not behis? Would it not be kinder to her, than to continue her longerengaged in a hopeless passion for him? Ought he not to do so infriendship to her? This notion prevailed some moments, and he hadalmost determined to be false to her from a high point of honour: butthat refinement was not able to stand very long against the voice ofnature, which cried in his heart that such friendship was treason tolove. At last he called for pen, ink, and paper, and writ as followsto Mrs Hunt:--

"MADAM,

"It would be but a poor return to the favour you have done me to sacrifice any gallantry to the possession of you, and I would certainly do it, though I were not disengaged, as at present I am, from any affair of that kind. But I should not be the honest man you think me, if I did not tell you that my affections are engaged to another, who is a woman of virtue, and one that I never can leave, though it is probable I shall never possess her. God forbid that, in return of your kindness to me, I should do you such an injury as to give you my hand when I cannot give my heart. No; I had much rather starve than be guilty of that. Even though my mistress were married to another, I would not marry you unless my heart had entirely effaced all impressions of her. Be assured that your secret was not more safe in your own breast, than in that of your most obliged, and grateful humble servant,

"T. JONES."

When our heroe had finished and sent this letter, he went to hisscrutore, took out Miss Western's muff, kissed it several times, andthen strutted some turns about his room, with more satisfaction ofmind than ever any Irishman felt in carrying off a fortune of fiftythousand pounds.

Chapter xii.

A discovery made by Partridge.

While Jones was exulting in the consciousness of his integrity,Partridge came capering into the room, as was his custom when hebrought, or fancied he brought, any good tidings. He had beendespatched that morning by his master, with orders to endeavour, bythe servants of Lady Bellaston, or by any other means, to discoverwhither Sophia had been conveyed; and he now returned, and with ajoyful countenance told our heroe that he had found the lost bird. "Ihave seen, sir," says he, "Black George, the gamekeeper, who is one ofthe servants whom the squire hath brought with him to town. I knew himpresently, though I have not seen him these several years; but youknow, sir, he is a very remarkable man, or, to use a purer phrase, hehath a most remarkable beard, the largest and blackest I ever saw. Itwas some time, however, before Black George could recollect me.""Well, but what is your good news?" cries Jones; "what do you know ofmy Sophia?" "You shall know presently, sir," answered Partridge, "I amcoming to it as fast as I can. You are so impatient, sir, you wouldcome at the infinitive mood before you can get to the imperative. As Iwas saying, sir, it was some time before he recollected myface."--"Confound your face!" cries Jones, "what of my Sophia?" "Nay,sir," answered Partridge, "I know nothing more of Madam Sophia thanwhat I am going to tell you; and I should have told you all beforethis if you had not interrupted me; but if you look so angry at me youwill frighten all of it out of my head, or, to use a purer phrase, outof my memory. I never saw you look so angry since the day we leftUpton, which I shall remember if I was to live a thousandyears."--"Well, pray go on your own way," said Jones: "you areresolved to make me mad I find." "Not for the world," answeredPartridge, "I have suffered enough for that already; which, as I said,I shall bear in my remembrance the longest day I have to live." "Well,but Black George?" cries Jones. "Well, sir, as I was saying, it was along time before he could recollect me; for, indeed, I am very muchaltered since I saw him. _Non sum qualis eram._ I have had troubles inthe world, and nothing alters a man so much as grief. I have heard itwill change the colour of a man's hair in a night. However, at last,know me he did, that's sure enough; for we are both of an age, andwere at the same charity school. George was a great dunce, but nomatter for that; all men do not thrive in the world according to theirlearning. I am sure I have reason to say so; but it will be all one athousand years hence. Well, sir, where was I?--O--well, we no soonerknew each other, than, after many hearty shakes by the hand, we agreedto go to an alehouse and take a pot, and by good luck the beer wassome of the best I have met with since I have been in town. Now, sir,I am coming to the point; for no sooner did I name you, and told himthat you and I came to town together, and had lived together eversince, than he called for another pot, and swore he would drink toyour health; and indeed he drank your health so heartily that I wasoverjoyed to see there was so much gratitude left in the world; andafter we had emptied that pot I said I would buy my pot too, and so wedrank another to your health; and then I made haste home to tell youthe news."

"What news?" cries Jones, "you have not mentioned a word of mySophia!" "Bless me! I had like to have forgot that. Indeed, wementioned a great deal about young Madam Western, and George told meall; that Mr Blifil is coming to town in order to be married to her.He had best make haste then, says I, or somebody will have her beforehe comes; and, indeed, says I, Mr Seagrim, it is a thousand pitiessomebody should not have her; for he certainly loves her above all thewomen in the world. I would have both you and she know, that it is notfor her fortune he follows her; for I can assure you, as to matter ofthat, there is another lady, one of much greater quality and fortunethan she can pretend to, who is so fond of somebody that she comesafter him day and night."

Here Jones fell into a passion with Partridge, for having, as he said,betrayed him; but the poor fellow answered, he had mentioned no name:"Besides, sir," said he, "I can assure you George is sincerely yourfriend, and wished Mr Blifil at the devil more than once; nay, he saidhe would do anything in his power upon earth to serve you; and so I amconvinced he will. Betray you, indeed! why, I question whether youhave a better friend than George upon earth, except myself, or onethat would go farther to serve you."

"Well," says Jones, a little pacified, "you say this fellow, who, Ibelieve, indeed, is enough inclined to be my friend, lives in the samehouse with Sophia?"

"In the same house!" answered Partridge; "why, sir, he is one of theservants of the family, and very well drest I promise you he is; if itwas not for his black beard you would hardly know him."

"One service then at least he may do me," says Jones: "sure he cancertainly convey a letter to my Sophia."

"You have hit the nail _ad unguem_" cries Partridge; "how came I notto think of it? I will engage he shall do it upon the very firstmentioning."

"Well, then," said Jones, "do you leave me at present, and I willwrite a letter, which you shall deliver to him to-morrow morning; forI suppose you know where to find him."

"O yes, sir," answered Partridge, "I shall certainly find him again;there is no fear of that. The liquor is too good for him to stay awaylong. I make no doubt but he will be there every day he stays intown."

"So you don't know the street then where my Sophia is lodged?" criesJones.

"Indeed, sir, I do," says Partridge.

"What is the name of the street?" cries Jones.

"The name, sir? why, here, sir, just by," answered Partridge, "notabove a street or two off. I don't, indeed, know the very name; for,as he never told me, if I had asked, you know, it might have put somesuspicion into his head. No, no, sir, let me alone for that. I am toocunning for that, I promise you."

"Thou art most wonderfully cunning, indeed," replied Jones; "however,I will write to my charmer, since I believe you will be cunning enoughto find him to-morrow at the alehouse."

And now, having dismissed the sagacious Partridge, Mr Jones sathimself down to write, in which employment we shall leave him for atime. And here we put an end to the fifteenth book.

BOOK XVI.

CONTAINING THE SPACE OF FIVE DAYS.

Chapter i.

Of prologues.

I have heard of a dramatic writer who used to say, he would ratherwrite a play than a prologue; in like manner, I think, I can with lesspains write one of the books of this history than the prefatorychapter to each of them.

To say the truth, I believe many a hearty curse hath been devoted onthe head of that author who first instituted the method of prefixingto his play that portion of matter which is called the prologue; andwhich at first was part of the piece itself, but of latter years hathhad usually so little connexion with the drama before which it stands,that the prologue to one play might as well serve for any other. Thoseindeed of more modern date, seem all to be written on the same threetopics, viz., an abuse of the taste of the town, a condemnation of allcontemporary authors, and an eulogium on the performance just about tobe represented. The sentiments in all these are very little varied,nor is it possible they should; and indeed I have often wondered atthe great invention of authors, who have been capable of finding suchvarious phrases to express the same thing.

In like manner I apprehend, some future historian (if any one shall dome the honour of imitating my manner) will, after much scratching hispate, bestow some good wishes on my memory, for having firstestablished these several initial chapters; most of which, like modernprologues, may as properly be prefixed to any other book in thishistory as to that which they introduce, or indeed to any otherhistory as to this.

But however authors may suffer by either of these inventions, thereader will find sufficient emolument in the one as the spectator hathlong found in the other.

First, it is well known that the prologue serves the critic for anopportunity to try his faculty of hissing, and to tune his cat-call tothe best advantage; by which means, I have known those musicalinstruments so well prepared, that they have been able to play in fullconcert at the first rising of the curtain.

The same advantages may be drawn from these chapters, in which thecritic will be always sure of meeting with something that may serve asa whetstone to his noble spirit; so that he may fall with a morehungry appetite for censure on the history itself. And here hissagacity must make it needless to observe how artfully these chaptersare calculated for that excellent purpose; for in these we have alwaystaken care to intersperse somewhat of the sour or acid kind, in orderto sharpen and stimulate the said spirit of criticism.

Again, the indolent reader, as well as spectator, finds greatadvantage from both these; for, as they are not obliged either to seethe one or read the others, and both the play and the book are thusprotracted, by the former they have a quarter of an hour longerallowed them to sit at dinner, and by the latter they have theadvantage of beginning to read at the fourth or fifth page instead ofthe first, a matter by no means of trivial consequence to persons whoread books with no other view than to say they have read them, a moregeneral motive to reading than is commonly imagined; and from whichnot only law books, and good books, but the pages of Homer and Virgil,of Swift and Cervantes, have been often turned over.

Many other are the emoluments which arise from both these, but theyare for the most part so obvious, that we shall not at present stay toenumerate them; especially since it occurs to us that the principalmerit of both the prologue and the preface is that they be short.

Chapter ii.

A whimsical adventure which befel the squire, with the distressedsituation of Sophia.

We must now convey the reader to Mr Western's lodgings, which were inPiccadilly, where he was placed by the recommendation of the landlordat the Hercules Pillars at Hyde Park Corner; for at the inn, which wasthe first he saw on his arrival in town, he placed his horses, and inthose lodgings, which were the first he heard of, he depositedhimself.

Here, when Sophia alighted from the hackney-coach, which brought herfrom the house of Lady Bellaston, she desired to retire to theapartment provided for her; to which her father very readily agreed,and whither he attended her himself. A short dialogue, neither verymaterial nor pleasant to relate minutely, then passed between them, inwhich he pressed her vehemently to give her consent to the marriagewith Blifil, who, as he acquainted her, was to be in town in a fewdays; but, instead of complying, she gave a more peremptory andresolute refusal than she had ever done before. This so incensed herfather, that after many bitter vows, that he would force her to havehim whether she would or no, he departed from her with many hard wordsand curses, locked the door, and put the key into his pocket.

While Sophia was left with no other company than what attend theclosest state prisoner, namely, fire and candle, the squire sat downto regale himself over a bottle of wine, with his parson and thelandlord of the Hercules Pillars, who, as the squire said, would makean excellent third man, and could inform them of the news of the town,and how affairs went; for to be sure, says he, he knows a great deal,since the horses of many of the quality stand at his house.

In this agreeable society Mr Western past that evening and great partof the succeeding day, during which period nothing happened ofsufficient consequence to find a place in this history. All this timeSophia past by herself; for her father swore she should never come outof her chamber alive, unless she first consented to marry Blifil; nordid he ever suffer the door to be unlocked, unless to convey her food,on which occasions he always attended himself.

The second morning after his arrival, while he and the parson were atbreakfast together on a toast and tankard, he was informed that agentleman was below to wait on him.

"A gentleman!" quoth the squire, "who the devil can he be? Do, doctor,go down and see who 'tis. Mr Blifil can hardly be come to townyet.--Go down, do, and know what his business is."

The doctor returned with an account that it was a very well-drest man,and by the ribbon in his hat he took him for an officer of the army;that he said he had some particular business, which he could deliverto none but Mr Western himself.

"An officer!" cries the squire; "what can any such fellow have to dowith me? If he wants an order for baggage-waggons, I am no justice ofpeace here, nor can I grant a warrant.--Let un come up then, if hemust speak to me."

A very genteel man now entered the room; who, having made hiscompliments to the squire, and desired the favour of being alone withhim, delivered himself as follows:--

"Sir, I come to wait upon you by the command of my Lord Fellamar; butwith a very different message from what I suppose you expect, afterwhat past the other night."

"My lord who?" cries the squire; "I never heard the name o'un."

"His lordship," said the gentleman, "is willing to impute everythingto the effect of liquor, and the most trifling acknowledgment of thatkind will set everything right; for as he hath the most violentattachment to your daughter, you, sir, are the last person upon earthfrom whom he would resent an affront; and happy is it for you boththat he hath given such public demonstrations of his courage as to beable to put up an affair of this kind without danger of any imputationon his honour. All he desires, therefore, is, that you will before memake some acknowledgment; the slightest in the world will besufficient; and he intends this afternoon to pay his respects to you,in order to obtain your leave of visiting the young lady on thefooting of a lover."

"I don't understand much of what you say, sir," said the squire; "butI suppose, by what you talk about my daughter, that this is the lordwhich my cousin, Lady Bellaston, mentioned to me, and said somethingabout his courting my daughter. If so be that how that be thecase--you may give my service to his lordship, and tell un the girl isdisposed of already."

"Perhaps, sir," said the gentleman, "you are not sufficiently apprizedof the greatness of this offer. I believe such a person, title, andfortune would be nowhere refused."

"Lookee, sir," answered the squire; "to be very plain, my daughter isbespoke already; but if she was not, I would not marry her to a lordupon any account; I hate all lords; they are a parcel of courtiers andHanoverians, and I will have nothing to do with them."

"Well, sir," said the gentleman, "if that is your resolution, themessage I am to deliver to you is that my lord desires the favour ofyour company this morning in Hyde Park."

"You may tell my lord," answered the squire, "that I am busy andcannot come. I have enough to look after at home, and can't stirabroad on any account."

"I am sure, sir," quoth the other, "you are too much a gentleman tosend such a message; you will not, I am convinced, have it said ofyou, that, after having affronted a noble peer, you refuse himsatisfaction. His lordship would have been willing, from his greatregard to the young lady, to have made up matters in another way; butunless he is to look on you as a father, his honour will not sufferhis putting up such an indignity as you must be sensible you offeredhim."

"I offered him!" cries the squire; "it is a d--n'd lie! I neveroffered him anything."

Upon these words the gentleman returned a very short verbal rebuke,and this he accompanied at the same time with some manualremonstrances, which no sooner reached the ears of Mr Western, thanthat worthy squire began to caper very briskly about the room,bellowing at the same time with all his might, as if desirous tosummon a greater number of spectators to behold his agility.

The parson, who had left great part of the tankard unfinished, was notretired far; he immediately attended therefore on the squire'svociferation, crying, "Bless me! sir, what's the matter?"--"Matter!"quoth the squire, "here's a highwayman, I believe, who wants to roband murder me--for he hath fallen upon me with that stick there in hishand, when I wish I may be d--n'd if I gid un the least provocation."

"How, sir," said the captain, "did you not tell me I lyed?"

"No, as I hope to be saved," answered the squire, "--I believe I mightsay, 'Twas a lie that I had offered any affront to my lord--but Inever said the word, `you lie.'--I understand myself better, and youmight have understood yourself better than to fall upon a naked man.If I had a stick in my hand, you would not have dared strike me. I'dhave knocked thy lantern jaws about thy ears. Come down into yard thisminute, and I'll take a bout with thee at single stick for a brokenhead, that I will; or I will go into naked room and box thee for abelly-full. At unt half a man, at unt, I'm sure."

The captain, with some indignation, replied, "I see, sir, you arebelow my notice, and I shall inform his lordship you are below his. Iam sorry I have dirtied my fingers with you." At which words hewithdrew, the parson interposing to prevent the squire from stoppinghim, in which he easily prevailed, as the other, though he made someefforts for the purpose, did not seem very violently bent on success.However, when the captain was departed, the squire sent many cursesand some menaces after him; but as these did not set out from his lipstill the officer was at the bottom of the stairs, and grew louder andlouder as he was more and more remote, they did not reach his ears, orat least did not retard his departure.

Poor Sophia, however, who, in her prison, heard all her father'soutcries from first to last, began now first to thunder with her foot,and afterwards to scream as loudly as the old gentleman himself haddone before, though in a much sweeter voice. These screams soonsilenced the squire, and turned all his consideration towards hisdaughter, whom he loved so tenderly, that the least apprehension ofany harm happening to her, threw him presently into agonies; for,except in that single instance in which the whole future happiness ofher life was concerned, she was sovereign mistress of hisinclinations.

Having ended his rage against the captain, with swearing he would takethe law of him, the squire now mounted upstairs to Sophia, whom, assoon as he had unlocked and opened the door, he found all pale andbreathless. The moment, however, that she saw her father, shecollected all her spirits, and, catching him hold by the hand, shecryed passionately, "O my dear sir, I am almost frightened to death! Ihope to heaven no harm hath happened to you." "No, no," cries thesquire, "no great harm. The rascal hath not hurt me much, but rat meif I don't ha the la o' un." "Pray, dear sir," says she, "tell mewhat's the matter; who is it that hath insulted you?" "I don't knowthe name o' un," answered Western; "some officer fellow, I suppose,that we are to pay for beating us; but I'll make him pay this bout, ifthe rascal hath got anything, which I suppose he hath not. For thof hewas drest out so vine, I question whether he had got a voot of land inthe world." "But, dear sir," cries she, "what was the occasion of yourquarrel?" "What should it be, Sophy," answered the squire, "but aboutyou, Sophy? All my misfortunes are about you; you will be the death ofyour poor father at last. Here's a varlet of a lord, the Lord knowswho, forsooth! who hath a taan a liking to you, and because I wouldnot gi un my consent, he sent me a kallenge. Come, do be a good girl,Sophy, and put an end to all your father's troubles; come, do consentto ha un; he will be in town within this day or two; do but promise meto marry un as soon as he comes, and you will make me the happiest manin the world, and I will make you the happiest woman; you shall havethe finest cloaths in London, and the finest jewels, and a coach andsix at your command. I promised Allworthy already to give up half myestate--od rabbet it! I should hardly stick at giving up the whole.""Will my papa be so kind," says she, "as to hear me speak?"--"Why woutask, Sophy?" cries he, "when dost know I had rather hear thy voicethan the musick of the best pack of dogs in England.--Hear thee, mydear little girl! I hope I shall hear thee as long as I live; for if Iwas ever to lose that pleasure, I would not gee a brass varden to livea moment longer. Indeed, Sophy, you do not know how I love you, indeedyou don't, or you never could have run away and left your poor father,who hath no other joy, no other comfort upon earth, but his littleSophy." At these words the tears stood in his eyes; and Sophia (withthe tears streaming from hers) answered, "Indeed, my dear papa, I knowyou have loved me tenderly, and heaven is my witness how sincerely Ihave returned your affection; nor could anything but an apprehensionof being forced into the arms of this man have driven me to run from afather whom I love so passionately, that I would, with pleasure,sacrifice my life to his happiness; nay, I have endeavoured to reasonmyself into doing more, and had almost worked up a resolution toendure the most miserable of all lives, to comply with yourinclination. It was that resolution alone to which I could not forcemy mind; nor can I ever." Here the squire began to look wild, and thefoam appeared at his lips, which Sophia, observing, begged to be heardout, and then proceeded: "If my father's life, his health, or any realhappiness of his was at stake, here stands your resolved daughter; mayheaven blast me if there is a misery I would not suffer to preserveyou!--No, that most detested, most loathsome of all lots would Iembrace. I would give my hand to Blifil for your sake."--"I tell thee,it will preserve me," answers the father; "it will give me health,happiness, life, everything.--Upon my soul I shall die if dost refuseme; I shall break my heart, I shall, upon my soul."--"Is it possible,"says she, "you can have such a desire to make me miserable?"--"I tellthee noa," answered he loudly, "d--n me if there is a thing upon earthI would not do to see thee happy."--"And will not my dear papa allowme to have the least knowledge of what will make me so? If it be truethat happiness consists in opinion, what must be my condition, when Ishall think myself the most miserable of all the wretches upon earth?""Better think yourself so," said he, "than know it by being married toa poor bastardly vagabond." "If it will content you, sir," saidSophia, "I will give you the most solemn promise never to marry him,nor any other, while my papa lives, without his consent. Let mededicate my whole life to your service; let me be again your poorSophy, and my whole business and pleasure be, as it hath been, toplease and divert you." "Lookee, Sophy," answered the squire, "I amnot to be choused in this manner. Your aunt Western would then havereason to think me the fool she doth. No, no, Sophy, I'd have you toknow I have a got more wisdom, and know more of the world, than totake the word of a woman in a matter where a man is concerned." "How,sir, have I deserved this want of confidence?" said she; "have I everbroke a single promise to you? or have I ever been found guilty of afalsehood from my cradle?" "Lookee, Sophy," cries he; "that's neitherhere nor there. I am determined upon this match, and have him youshall, d--n me if shat unt. D--n me if shat unt, though dost hangthyself the next morning." At repeating which words he clinched hisfist, knit his brows, bit his lips, and thundered so loud, that thepoor afflicted, terrified Sophia sunk trembling into her chair, and,had not a flood of tears come immediately to her relief, perhaps worsehad followed.

Western beheld the deplorable condition of his daughter with no morecontrition or remorse than the turnkey of Newgate feels at viewing theagonies of a tender wife, when taking her last farewel of hercondemned husband; or rather he looked down on her with the sameemotions which arise in an honest fair tradesman, who sees his debtordragged to prison for £10, which, though a just debt, the wretch iswickedly unable to pay. Or, to hit the case still more nearly, he feltthe same compunction with a bawd, when some poor innocent, whom shehath ensnared into her hands, falls into fits at the first proposal ofwhat is called seeing company. Indeed this resemblance would be exact,was it not that the bawd hath an interest in what she doth, and thefather, though perhaps he may blindly think otherwise, can, inreality, have none in urging his daughter to almost an equalprostitution.

In this condition he left his poor Sophia, and, departing with a veryvulgar observation on the effect of tears, he locked the room, andreturned to the parson, who said everything he durst in behalf of theyoung lady, which, though perhaps it was not quite so much as his dutyrequired, yet was it sufficient to throw the squire into a violentrage, and into many indecent reflections on the whole body of theclergy, which we have too great an honour for that sacred function tocommit to paper.

Chapter iii.

What happened to Sophia during her confinement.

The landlady of the house where the squire lodged had begun very earlyto entertain a strange opinion of her guests. However, as she wasinformed that the squire was a man of vast fortune, and as she hadtaken care to exact a very extraordinary price for her rooms, she didnot think proper to give any offence; for, though she was not withoutsome concern for the confinement of poor Sophia, of whose greatsweetness of temper and affability the maid of the house had made sofavourable a report, which was confirmed by all the squire's servants,yet she had much more concern for her own interest than to provoke